When the light returns
by Tez
Summary: Post-Aftershock. Jack waits for Claire to wake up.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Law and Order belongs to Dick Wolf. The lyrics to 'Dirty Little Secret' belong to Sarah McLachlan. I'm just borrowing them for a little while; I promise to return them in good shape.

A/N: I know even less about the characters from the original Law and Order than I do about the characters from SVU, but I was tempted by the story of Jack and Claire. I apologize in advance for any details I get wrong. In this story, Jack's ex-wife's name is Kate, although I don't know if that's right.

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_If I had the chance, love_

_I would not hesitate_

_------------------------------_

I can feel his presence behind me, but I don't look up. I haven't left the hospital in four days. Not since he called to tell me what had happened to her. I got here as fast as I could, but I was hours too late to prevent this tragedy. A tragedy of my own making, since it was my fault she was driving that night.

Now all I can do is hold her delicate, unmoving hand as I watch her suffer the consequences of my drunken foolishness. If I'd waited, if I'd been at the bar when she arrived, I could have stopped this. She would be awake right now, as vibrant and alive as she has been for as long as I've known her. She could be curling up in my arms on the couch to watch a movie, or maybe enticing me to come to bed with that sexy come-hither smile that never fails to make my heart skip a beat. She wouldn't be lying here, frighteningly pale against the white hospital linens, her slim figure painfully and irreparably still.

"Go home, Jack."

His voice is tired. I'm tired too, in a distant sort of manner. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters now except the slow rise and fall of her chest and the weak but steady pulse that I can feel under my fingertips. While she's still breathing, while her heart is still beating, I can't give up on her. I can't leave her.

"I can't."

His hand rests on my shoulder, just for a moment. I flinch. She's my whole world now, the only thing I care about, and his intrusion into that world is unwelcome.

"Jack." He hesitates. "I'm sorry."

"So am I, Adam."

He nods, taking one last look at her before exiting the room. His absence leaves me alone with her, the only woman I've ever truly loved, and with my grief, which in the artificial quiet of the room is almost a living entity. I squeeze her hand, feeling tears prick at my eyes when she doesn't respond in kind.

"Oh, Claire," I whisper, my heart breaking. "Oh, God, sweetheart. Please wake up. You can't die on me now. Come on, Claire."

She doesn't answer.

_-------------------------------------------------------_

_to__ tell you all the things I've never said before_

_don't__ tell me it's too late_

_-------------------------------------------------------_

"Remember that time we went to see the Christmas lights in the suburbs?" I smile at the memory. It's one of the best ones I have. "I thought it was a silly idea, but you were so excited that I couldn't say no. You made me drive so that you could watch out the window while we passed the houses. There was this one neighborhood, with lights so bright you could see them from the freeway. We parked a block away so that we could walk through it.

"It started to snow, just a little bit, and you made me stop so you could try and catch snowflakes in your mouth. You tilted your head back and stuck out your tongue, and in that instant I loved you so much my heart nearly split in two. Your cheeks were pink from the cold and the glow of the colored lights made you shimmer. You looked so beautiful, Claire. Just when I thought I couldn't be any more in love with you, you looked up and smiled at me. I saw our life together in that smile. Suddenly I had this image of you playing in the snow with our kids: a little boy with hazel eyes and a girl with your sweet smile.

"That's the life I always wanted for myself, Claire. A loving wife, a couple of adorable kids, and a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence. I thought I could have that with Kate, but it wasn't right. We weren't right. Wrong people, wrong time. You and I are the right people at the right time, Claire. You're the best thing in my life, and I love you more than I thought I could love anyone. I didn't think I had that kind of warmth inside me. I didn't know I was capable of feeling this much of anything. You made me this way, Claire. I'm only like this with you.

"I should have told you all of this before, but I'm a coward. I've always been afraid of admitting my feelings. Even after you were asleep at night, when I'd stay up late just to watch you breathe and wonder how an old reprobate like me could have gotten so damn lucky, I still couldn't make the words come. I'm ready now, though. There's so much I want to tell you, sweetheart, but you have to wake up first. Please, Claire, open your eyes. Give me one of those beautiful smiles. I love you. Please?"

I wait a moment, then another, and then turn away. She can't see me, but I'm still not willing to cry in front of her.

_-------------------------------------_

_I've been up all night drinking_

_to__ drown my sorrow down_

_------------------------------------_

I used to think that I'd lived a hard life, that I'd done my share of suffering, but I was wrong. Watching my brilliant, vivacious Claire lying motionless in that bed is the most painful experience of my life. I still do it, though. As awful as it is to see her like that, picturing her all alone in the hospital would be worse. I've been to see her every day in the three weeks since the accident, both at lunch and after work. Sometimes I sit next to her and think out loud about cases I'm working on. Other times I take the opportunity to remember the good times we've had. In the evenings, I bring a book and read to her. Usually it's Shakespeare or Oscar Wilde, but once I brought her favorite book of sonnets by Neruda. That day was particularly hard for me; she read the same book of sonnets to me in bed on a lazy Sunday afternoon a few months ago. I could almost hear her voice speaking right along with mine.

Every night, when I leave the hospital, I go straight to the nearest bar. It's become my pattern over the last three weeks. Today I need the comfort of my old friend Jack Daniels more than ever. Today Claire's mother told me they're going to find a long-term care facility for her.

'She can't stay in the hospital forever,' her mother's voice echoes in my mind. The words leave a hollow feeling in my chest. She won't be like this forever. She can't be. I need her to wake up and come back to me.

"Hey, Jack."

I turn around slowly, already well on my way to being inebriated.

"Lennie."

He sits down on the bar stool next to mine, and I notice he's drinking soda tonight. Come to think of it, I haven't seen him drink alcohol since the accident.

"No change, huh?"

I close my eyes, covering my face with my hands.

"I talked to her parents tonight."

"Oh." His voice is quiet. "How are they doing?"

"As well as can be expected. They've decided it's time to look into finding a facility for Claire."

"Aw, Jack." He claps me on the shoulder, awkwardly. "I'm sorry."

"How can it end like this?" I ask no one in particular, hearing the raw anguish in my own voice. "We never got a real chance to be together. This isn't supposed to be happening. I can't lose her yet."

I'm shaking with the effort it takes not to break down and cry right here in the middle of the bar. Lennie's hand is firm on my shoulder now.

"Come on, Jack," he says, and I can hear the sorrow in his voice. "I'll take you home."

"It's not home," I mutter, setting down enough money to pay my tab and using the motion to cover up a surreptitious swipe at my watering eyes. "Not anymore. Not without her."

_-------------------------------------------------------------_

_but__ nothing seems to help me since you went away_

_I'm so tired of this town_

_------------------------------------------------------------_

I want to leave New York. The torture of living here now is too much to bear. I can't walk down the street without seeing something that reminds me of her. The coffee shops and diners where we used to grab quick meals before court, or the little Italian restaurant that's always been her favorite place for a celebration after a tough win. The office is the worst, though. I have to walk by her desk every day and know it belongs to someone else now. Even though Adam promised me that Claire will be welcomed back to the DA's office with open arms if she wakes up, it still feels like a slap in the face every time I see Jamie Ross sitting where Claire belongs.

I wish I could leave – I think about it every day – but Claire is still here. With every day that passes, the chance that she'll wake up becomes smaller and smaller, but I can't give up. I cling to the hope, however far-fetched, that she'll come back to me. I'd give anything to walk in the door to her hospital room today and find her awake and alert, smiling warmly at me like she always used to.

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_'cause I've relied on my illusions_

_to__ keep me warm at night_

_--------------------------------------_

The nights are the worst part. I close my eyes, lying in the bed we shared, and I can almost feel her next to me. In my mind, her delicate hand rests on my chest, her palm over my heart. She sighs contentedly and I can feel her breath caress my cheek. She moves in her sleep, one of her legs inching across the mattress to tangle between mine. I inhale deeply, the rose-and-vanilla scent of her assailing my senses and sending a thrill through my body. I brush my lips against her shoulder, letting the soft, even sound of her breathing lull me to sleep.

In the morning, I always wake up clutching her pillow to my chest, feeling cheated. If this isn't cruel and unusual punishment, I don't know what is.

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_and__ I denied in my capacity to love_

_but__ I am willing to give up this fight_

_--------------------------------------------_

It's been a month since the accident. This is Claire's last night in Manhattan; tomorrow her parents are moving her to a home for disabled adults in Westchester. I kneel next to her bed, closing my eyes as I take her hand in mine and pray harder than I ever have in my life. I'm not sure I believe in God, and if he is up there somewhere I know I'm not on His top ten list, but I'm not praying for me. I'm praying for her.

"Please," I whisper, not bothering to wipe away the tears coursing down my cheeks. "Please. I know I'm not a religious man, but I try to do the best I can. I put murderers and felons in prison. I keep dangerous criminals off the streets to protect the public good. I've made my share of mistakes in my life, but I've done my best, and I like to think I've made a difference in the lives of some of my fellow men.

"I've never asked you for anything before, and I'm not asking for myself now. It's Claire. She needs your help. She's a strong woman, but she can't do this by herself anymore. If you can just get her to wake up, I'll take it from there, I swear. I'll love her and cherish her and take care of her for the rest of our lives. You just have to make her wake up. I want to see her smile at me again. I want to watch her twirl her hair around her finger when she's so absorbed in what she's reading that she doesn't even know she's doing it. I want to be working on a brief at my desk late at night and look up to find that she's gotten so bored waiting for me that she's fallen asleep on my couch. I want to hear her laugh at me because I can't get my tie to hang straight in the morning.

"I want her to live her life again, but she can't do it from a hospital bed. So I'm asking you to help her. If there's any justice, any fairness, in the world, you'll help her wake up. I can't lose her like this. She's too important to me. Please bring her home."

I open my eyes, obscurely disappointed to find that Claire's condition hasn't changed. Silly to hope that a single prayer could change things, especially from a lapsed Catholic like me, but I'm grasping at straws now. Tomorrow they're moving her and I'm going to have to accept that she's probably never going to wake up. Tonight is my last chance.

I look at her prone form, smiling weakly. Even unconscious, she's lovely. I can't fool myself into thinking that she's just sleeping, although I wish I could. She never sleeps on her back. She's been lying that way for a month and it still looks unnatural to me. When we're together, she usually sleeps on her side. She likes to snuggle up against me in bed, her body acting as my own personal heater. An ache settles deep in my chest as I remember what it felt like to hold her in my arms. I may never get to hold her like that again.

Knowing it's technically against hospital policy and not caring, I kick off my shoes and tug back the covers on her bed. I'm more careful with her than I've ever been in my life, shifting her onto her side and slipping my arm around her waist as I get into bed with her and curl up against her back. Immediately I start to feel warmer, both inside and out. While I'm holding her like this it's easy to believe that things are normal, that she'll wake up tomorrow morning and make us breakfast before work. She'll get up before me, like always, toying with my hair and laying gentle kisses on my face until I give in and open my eyes. The first thing I'll see is her smile, and she'll giggle as I run my hand across her abdomen. She's extremely ticklish, and even though she complains when I tickle her, I never get tired of doing it. She's gloriously beautiful when she laughs.

I take a deep breath and my eyes start to water. She still smells the same as she always has, the scent of roses mixed with soft vanilla.

"I love you, Claire," I whisper into her ear. I kiss the top of her head, nuzzling her hair and wishing she would wake up, even for a moment, so that she could hear me say the words. It's the last thing I remember thinking before my eyes finally fall shut and I lose myself in dreams of her.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Law and Order, Jack, Claire, Sarah Brightman, the lyrics to Away From You, Pablo Neruda, or the words to Sonnet XXI, although I did translate it all by my big self. I appreciate the loan, though.

A/N: Now I've decided that Claire runs marathons. Better her than me. I also know very little about the geography of Manhattan, but I'm assuming that Lexington Avenue crosses 76th Street at some point, and that this point is conceivably somewhere near Lennie's apartment.

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_away__ from you, there is no music  
there is no sunlight; the world is gray_

_---------------------------------------------_

"Hello?" I call tentatively. There's no answer. I'm not sure what I'm doing here or when it got so foggy out. "Is anyone there? I think I'm lost."

"You got that right."

I jump, startled by the voice. A man in a trenchcoat is standing next to the nearest lamppost, barely visible through the fog.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, 'You got that right.'" He steps closer to me and I can see that he's grinning. "You're lost, Ms. Kincaid."

"How do you know my name?" I'm suspicious, but then he takes another step and I recognize him. "Lennie?"

"Hey, Claire."

"Lennie, where are we?" I look around, noticing a few familiar storefronts. "Is this 76th Street?"

"A few blocks east of Lex," he agrees. "Do you remember how we got here?"

"I – was I taking you home?"

"Bingo." He raises an eyebrow. "You remember what happened next?"

I do, suddenly, and the memory makes me nauseous.

"It hurt," I gasp, reaching up to touch my forehead. My hand comes away bloody and I recall the sickening crack I heard when my head hit the steering wheel, just before the world went dark. "That car came out of nowhere. I hit my head – God, Lennie, am I dead?"

"No." He hesitates. "Not yet."

"What does that mean?"

"You've been needing a vacation for a while now, Claire. Consider this your next best alternative."

"So I'm not going to die?"

"I don't know. The only two people who know that are you and Him." He points upward, and I follow the gesture with my eyes.

"I'm not sure I believe there's anyone up there, Lennie."

"You better hope He believes in you, Claire, 'cause you might need the help."

"Okay," I say slowly. "What do I have to do to wake up?"

"It's not that easy." He drapes a companionable arm around my shoulders and we walk toward Lexington Avenue. There's a Starbucks on the corner, and he gestures for me to precede him inside. "Let's talk about it over coffee, huh?"

_------------------------------------------------------  
away from you, the clocks are frozen  
and time is a traveler who has lost his way_

_------------------------------------------------------_

"How does this work? And why are you here?" I freeze, my heart jumping into my throat. "You're not dead, are you?

Lennie takes a sip of his coffee before replying. "The real me is just fine," he says finally, "except for a few cuts and bruises and a whole lot of guilt. The dream-me is here because you need someone to explain things to you and your subconscious trusts me."

"You're like a father to me," I admit. He reaches across the table, taking my hand in his.

"You know how I feel about you, kid," he says, his eyes twinkling, and I can't help but smile. "I should tell you what's going on. It's different for everyone, but here's the lowdown. The accident was more than your body could handle. In the real world you're in a coma, and you'll stay that way until your body has adjusted to the shock and had some time to heal."

"How long will that be?"

"Like I said, it's different for everyone."

"I saw an episode of Oprah once," I say, my apprehension audible in my tone, "where a woman woke up from a coma after fifteen years."

"That's the exception, not the rule," he comforts me. "But there's still a very small chance it could take that long. My guess for you is a couple of weeks, though."

"Weeks." I nod, swallowing hard. "Okay. I can handle weeks. What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"

"That's the hard part," he replies. "All your body has to do is rest and heal. You have a decision to make."

"What decision? Whether or not to wake up? That's not a decision, Lennie. I'm not ready to die. I'm going back."

"You should know what you're going to face," he warns me. "You suffered some damage in that crash. There are consequences for something this major, Claire."

"Like what?"

He squeezes my fingers gently. "If you do decide to go back, you'll never be completely well again. You'll have dizzy spells, probably for the rest of your life. Your balance will be affected. It'll take a while before you'll be able to walk again, and you'll be unsteady on your feet for a long time. You might never run another marathon. Also, you'll get nauseous if your footing shifts without warning, so the subway will be out as a method of transportation from now on." He sighs. "There could be other things, too, but these are the ones that I know you'll have to deal with."

It takes a few moments before I've gotten over the shock and found enough strength to reply.

"I won't be able to walk?"

"For a while," he agrees, his tone sympathetic. "I wish there was something I could do to change things, but this is the hand you got dealt, sweetheart."

"Jack," I gasp, remembering. Jack always calls me sweetheart when we're alone. "What about Jack?"

"What about him?"

My mouth is dry, my hands trembling with sudden fear. "I can't be a burden to him, Lennie. If I'm going to be an invalid…"

Lennie shakes his head, squeezing my hand again.

"Claire, he loves you more than anything else in the world. What do you think would be worse for him? You needing his help for a couple of months, or, yes, maybe even years? Or you dying on him? I'll give you one guess." He takes another sip of coffee, raising an eyebrow at me. "I know that you know he loves you, Claire, but I'm not sure you know just how much."

"Lennie," I sigh, and he taps the back of my hand with his fingertips, straightening in his chair.

"I almost forgot. There's something else you should know. While you're here," he gestures expansively toward our surroundings, "you can still hear what's going on in the real world."

"Anywhere?"

"Just what goes on near you," he stipulates. "If someone says something that you could hear if you were awake, you can hear it in here."

"How?"

"Close your eyes and concentrate."

I try it, feeling silly. For a moment nothing happens, and I'm about to tell Lennie that it's not working when I hear a familiar voice.

"Oh, Claire," Jack sighs, sounding weary. For a moment I think I can feel his fingers on mine, and I imagine he must be holding my hand. "Oh, God, sweetheart. Please wake up. You can't die on me now. Come on, Claire."

I open my eyes, shocked. Lennie is watching me expectantly.

"Well?"

"It was Jack," I say, blinking back tears. "He sounds awful, Lennie."

"Of course he does." He rubs my shoulder gently. "He's not sure if you're going to live or die. He's devastated."

I cover my face with my hands, a stray tear slipping down my cheek.

"This isn't fair."

"I know, Claire. I know."

_-----------------------------------------------------_

_I'm half alive until the moment  
the door swings open and you walk through_

_-----------------------------------------------------_

My dream-world looks exactly like Manhattan, but there aren't any people. Besides Lennie and me, the streets are deserted, and the constant noise of the big city is absent. It's eerie. I wish I could conjure up some tourists for ambiance, but if there's a way to do it I haven't figured it out yet. Lennie isn't always around, although he comes if I call him. For the most part I'm alone.

Lennie told me that first day that I should treat this like a vacation. Since I don't have anything better to do, I decide to indulge myself. I wander the streets during the daytimes, window-shopping up and down Madison Avenue. Sometimes I go to Central Park and relax in the bright sunshine, walking down the jogging paths or lying on the soft green grass. I run every day, even if it's just to the end of a city block and back, remembering Lennie's warning that I won't be able to once I've woken up. I'll miss the sport, but I miss Jack more.

At lunchtime, I stop whatever I'm doing and concentrate on the real world. I can always hear Jack then, talking to me about work or his life, or sometimes reminiscing about his favorite memories of the two of us. One afternoon he recounts the first time we ever kissed, and it brings wistful tears to my eyes. We stayed late in the office that night, working on an especially complicated case. We were sitting together on his couch, Jack occupied with the closing statement and me occupied with him, when I finally gave into the urge I'd been fighting since the day I met him and kissed him full on the lips. He was stunned, but only for a moment, and then he returned the kiss with more passion than I'd ever experienced in my whole life. Things moved quickly from there, and that night was also the first time we ever made love. The memory is bittersweet now; I wonder with a heavy heart how long it will be before I'll be able to kiss him like that again.

He doesn't just come at lunch. He's with me in the evenings, too, reading an assortment of the 'classics' that I've always teased him for loving so much. I go back to my dream-apartment every night before he gets off of work so that I can curl up in my bed and listen to his strong, steady voice. Being able to hear him soothes my fears and strengthens my desire to wake up from the coma, and I wish there were some way to let him know that I'm going to return to him. __

_---------------------------------------------------------------------_

_now__ my world starts to glow like a stained-glass window  
and what was old and cold is warm and new.  
--------------------------------------------------------------------_

I hear a faint voice from somewhere above me. Setting down the diamond tennis bracelet I was planning on appropriating from my dream-Tiffany's, I close my eyes and think hard about Jack. It isn't his voice that comes to me through the darkness, though. It's my mother's.

" – don't like it any more than you do, Mac, but I have to accept it! My little girl is dying and there isn't anything I can do about it."

"I know, honey, but are you sure this isn't premature? The doctor said there's a chance she could still wake up."

"And I pray every day that she will," she replies, sounding choked-up. "She's my baby, Mac. But she can't just stay in the hospital forever while we cross our fingers and hope that she'll recover. There are places designed to take care of…of cases like hers."

"It'll be all right," he says, and I can picture him embracing her tightly, holding her as she tries not to cry. She always tries to be so strong. "We'll start looking tomorrow."

"It won't be all right," she says softly, her voice filled with despair. "It'll never be all right."

"Don't give up, Mom," I call to her, my plea unheard, and I'm acutely aware of how alone I am here. "It _will_ be all right. Don't give up on me yet."

_-----------------------------------------_

_and__ so you see why I can never be  
away from you_

_----------------------------------------_

"Claire."

I open my eyes to find Lennie standing above me, raising an eyebrow at my attire. I'll admit that the bikini is a little risqué, but it's appropriate to my current activity.

"Pull up a towel," I offer, gesturing at the patch of grass I'm lying on. "Tan with me."

"Gee, that sort of thing is usually right up my alley," he quips, and I giggle. "But this is serious, Claire."

I sit up, taking his extended hand and rising to my feet. "Is it bad?"

"It's good," he replies. "It's better than good, kid. You're almost ready to wake up."

My breath catches in my throat. "Finally," I sigh, looking around me at the empty park. "Not that I won't miss you, Lennie, but I'm ready to go home."

"Tomorrow morning," he tells me. "Bright and early. Will you be ready then?"

"Definitely," I agree, giving him an excited smile. He tips his imaginary hat in my direction and disappears.

"One more day," I sigh, glancing down at my towel. Shrugging, I flop back down onto it. "Last day of vacation, then. Not much time to perfect this tan."

I smile at my own silliness, closing my eyes and enjoying the feeling of the sun soaking into my skin. I'm not glad for what happened to me, but I've used the time that I've been stuck in my own head wisely. I've taken the vacation I needed so desperately, and I've also thought some things through.

Before the accident I was planning on staying with the DA's office, but now I don't think I can. If I'm going to be confined to a bed for an indeterminate length of time, I can't go to work or to court. I've almost resigned myself to being a burden to Jack while I'm recovering, but I'm not willing to be a burden to Adam or the office. It wouldn't be fair to any of us.

Besides, I'm tired of hiding my affair with Jack. If I don't work for him anymore, we can finally be together the way we should be. I know he feels the same way because he's said it several times over the past few weeks. I'm thinking about taking my cousin Cindy up on one of her constant offers to work freelance on contracts for her accounting firm. Once I'm back on my feet, I'll think about returning to the DA's office, but under another prosecutor. I've thought hard about this and I feel like I'm making the right choice.

Right now, though, I want to enjoy my last day of free time before I have to face the realities of my body's new limitations. The warm summer air in the park makes me drowsy, and I'm almost asleep when I feel a mental tug. I focus on the sensation and Jack's voice comes in through the darkness. I'm prepared to relax and listen to him read to me like usual, but his pleading tone cuts straight into my heart.

"I know I'm not a religious man," he says, his voice so full of pain that I want to cry for him, and I realize he's praying. That only increases my anguish on his behalf. Jack truly isn't a religious man; he split from the church he was raised to once he was old enough to make his own decisions. He avoids talking about his belief system, even with me, and I know that if he's praying for me now he must be at his wit's end.

I listen as he pleads for my life, silent tears slipping down my cheeks. "I'm coming, Jack," I whisper into the darkness, aware that he can't hear me but needing him to know. "Hang on. I'm coming home soon. I'm coming back to you."

----------------------------------------------------

_we__ live, you and I, for a breath of sunlight  
so brief an escape from a world of gray_

_---------------------------------------------------_

I walk down 76th Street toward the scene of the accident. Somehow it feels like this is where I should be today, since this is where I was when I first entered the dream-world. I look around in the predawn gloom, wondering one more time why, out of all of the people in Manhattan, this had to happen to me. Lennie said it was just the hand I was dealt. Well, I may not be great at card games, but even I know what you're supposed to do with the hand you're dealt.

"You've got to play it out." I whirl around to find Lennie standing a few feet away, smiling crookedly at me. "It's time, Claire."

"What do I do?"

"That part is simple." He ruffles my hair, a gesture of fatherly affection for a beloved daughter, and I blink back tears. "Just close your eyes and _want_ it."

"Want it?"

"More than anything."

"All right." I take a deep breath, trying to clear my mind. I can't believe it's finally time. "Thanks for the help, Lennie," I sniffle, embarrassed by my overwhelming emotions. "Take care of yourself."

He hugs me tightly, kissing my forehead.

"If all goes well, you'll see me in a little while. The real me."

"Right." I step back, straightening, and he beams proudly at me.

"Remember, all you have to do is want it badly enough."

I smile softly. "I want it more than anything," I say, the honesty in my voice ringing true in the stillness of the early morning.

"Then it's time for you to go home."

Closing my eyes, I think about my life. The good parts and the bad, the fond memories and the family I have waiting for me. And Jack, who is the real reason I want so badly to return. Be it destiny or fate or pure dumb luck, I found my soulmate, and I'm supposed to be with him. I _want_ to be with him. More than anything.

"I'm ready," I call out to whatever higher power might be listening. "I'm ready to go home. Send me back. Please?"

-----------------------------------------------------------

_our__ moments of warmth have been touch and go,  
but tonight we'll touch and stay_

-----------------------------------------------------------

I'm expecting a flash of lightning or a clap of thunder. What I'm not expecting is a sudden searing headache. Unfortunately, that's what I get. I try to reach up and touch my head, to see if it's bleeding, but my arm is trapped by my side.

My next attempt at movement, this time to open my eyes, is also a dismal failure. The bright light of the room only increases the throbbing in my head. I groan, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the light, and finally manage to squint without feeling like a team of construction workers are jack-hammering the inside of my skull. The headache fades slowly, and it takes another few minutes before I feel like anything resembling myself.

"Wow," I murmur, trying to cope with the sudden change from my dream-world to here. I move my legs slowly, feeling the light weight of sheets tucked over them, and decide I must be lying in a bed. I assume it's a hospital bed, a guess that's reinforced by the thin, flimsy texture of the sheets. My sheets at home are flannel, and Jack's are 400-count Egyptian cotton.

Thinking about Jack jump-starts my brain. I remember that I was going to check my forehead and look down to see why I can't move my arm. It's being held in a familiar grasp, and I turn my head to find Jack fast asleep next to me.

"Oh, Jack," I say softly, noticing how worn down he looks, even in his sleep. He's snuggled against me, holding my body close to his as he sleeps. I roll over to face him and manage to free my right hand from under his forearm. When I reach up to touch my head I can feel that the cut on my forehead is bandaged, the gauze smooth under my questing fingertips. This must be a hospital, then, and I must be receiving the best care they can provide. Otherwise Jack would be outside haranguing the staff instead of in here sleeping with me.

I move my hand from my forehead to his, stroking his furrowed brow. I can't resist the urge to run my fingers through his hair, smiling as some of the tension eases out of his expression. It's like petting a cat; he loves it so much when I stroke his hair that I'm always amazed he doesn't purr. Jack's not the purring type, come to think of it, although I have made him growl more than once.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," I murmur, leaning up to kiss the strong line of his jaw. He moans in his sleep and I smile, laying a soft kiss on his cheek. "C'mon, Jack, you big lazy lug."

"Claire," he sighs in his sleep, his hand sliding down my back to rest on the curve of my rear. I can't help but grin; even in his sleep, Jack is an unrepentant lecher. "Mmm, sweetheart."

"Mmm, Jack," I mimic with a laugh, pressing kisses to both of his closed eyelids. "Time to wake up."

"I'm up," he mutters, his hand moving up to caress the small of my back. "I'm up, Claire…Claire?"

His eyes snap open, his whole body tensing, and I let my hand fall to his shoulder as he realizes where we are.

"Hey, Jack."

"Oh, God, Claire," he whispers, reaching up to touch my face. "Is it really you?"

"Last time I checked," I reply cheekily, and a brilliant smile transforms his tired expression.

"I knew you'd wake up," he breathes, the pure relief in his voice almost too much to bear. "I knew it. Oh, sweetheart." He pulls me tight against him, my head resting comfortably against his chest, and I can hear the faint lub-dub of his heart under my ear. It's the most reassuring sound I've ever heard.

"I love you, Claire," he whispers, his deep voice sending a delicious shiver down my spine. "There's so much I have to tell you."

"I heard you before," I reply. "Talking to me."

"You heard that?"

I tilt my head back to look at him and he gazes into my eyes, awe and love shining in his expression.

"Yeah," I affirm. "You were here every day. Thank you for that, Jack. It wasn't as lonely when you were with me."

"I thought maybe you could hear me," he says softly, stroking my cheek with his thumb. "I liked to imagine that you knew I was here with you."

I smile widely, recalling something that I wanted to ask him about.

"I thought you didn't like Pablo Neruda."

His eyes glint with the devilish humor he's so famous for.

"I'm full of surprises, Claire."

"I know." I take his hand in mine, intertwining our fingers and reveling in how right it feels. "I heard you praying for me."

He's silent for a moment. "There are no atheists in foxholes," he says finally. "And I think I've spent too much time in foxholes lately to continue on as an atheist."

"We can find a church together," I tell him. "If you'd seen what I saw, you'd be a true believer too."

"Amen," he murmurs, and leans in to kiss me. His lips brush mine, as tentative as he's ever been with me, and I smile.

"C'mon, Jack," I rib him gently. "Kiss me like you've missed me."

He grins at me and then I forget how to breathe as his mouth captures mine in a burning, passionate kiss. This is the kind of kiss we shared that first night at the office and then later on at my apartment, and the memory surfaces again in my mind, this time fond instead of bittersweet. I'm not dead. I got to come back, and I'm going to make sure I don't waste another moment of our time together.

"Jack," I whisper, once we've broken apart for air, and he gazes down at me.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I love you." I hesitate, smiling softly as I squeeze his hand. "I came back for you, Jack. I just wanted you to know."

He leans in to kiss my forehead, tears gathering in his eyes. He doesn't say a word. I don't blame him; the moment is too profound. We don't need words, anyway. I know, in that deep part of my soul where it's possible to really and truly _know_, that as long as we're together, everything will be all right.

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_oh__, my dearest, and nothing more than shadow there_

_where__ you walk with me through your dream_

_and__ you tell me when the light returns_

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End file.
